Gorillaz Shorts
by Rabid Chibi Squirrels Inc
Summary: My random Gorillaz oneshots! Chapter 2 is Up! Hollow Laughter
1. Name Game

**Hi, I've decided to make a short stories . . . thing. Kinda like an archive, only it's a collection of shorts I've made.**

**This is in 2D's point-of-view! Review, I don't own Gorillaz!**

**Gorillaz Shorts**

**:Name Game:**

Ah, the stars. They're so pretty. I could stare at them for hours and I'd never count them all, no matter how hard I tried. No, what use was it? What good would it do Was it just something to preoccupy myself? To keep my soul away from this monstrosity? This prison, this . . .

Inc.

Yes, this place. It had a name. No, not like me. I have no name. It was lost long ago. Ah, when was it lost? Was it while I was looking at the stars? Those beautiful white dots in the sky? Why did the stars have names? Yes, there's the Big Dipper, and Capricorn, Draco, and Polaris . . .

What is _my_ name?

I must have had one once. I look around, at these people. Don't they have names? Or are they like me? Have they forgotten their names, too? That bloke over there, with the guitar, one of my mates, isn't he? He had a name, and I knew it, once. And the fat bloke over on the drums, he had a name! Yes.

But why don't I remember their names?

A shadow passed in front of the window. I looked up. That love on the windmill, and the floating island. _She_ had a name. I know her, she was one of my best mates . . . like a little sister to me . . .

What was _her_ name?

That laugh, it was the Inc. again. I sighed.

Back to work.


	2. Hollow Laughter

**Hi, it's Kitsune again. I just came up with this, I hope you guys like it!**

**I own nothing. Nothing.**

**Gorillaz Shorts**

**:Hollow Laughter:**

_Ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-a . . ._

_Feel good . . ._

Yes, that was the laughter of the Inc. It was a hollow laugh, a mechanical laugh, a fake laugh . . . It echoed throughout the hollow building, bounced off the walls, and since it echoed here, it echoed in the city. It polluted the mind, it tormented the soul, it tortured the body.

The strange thing was, it never laughed that way until _I_ came to the Inc.

I wanted to know why. Why did it laugh, and then why would I sing? And my mates play? Muds and Russ, hell, even Noodle, sitting all alone on her windmill . . . Why did Feel Good, Inc. laugh?

I sat there in my chair for days on end. I . . . I wanted time to think, but whenever I got a _chance_ to do that, the Inc. would laugh and make me sing. And it continued this way, in a never ending chorus of, _Windmill, windmill for the land_.

Gods, how long would it be? Why wouldn't the Inc let me think? I could think. I _know_ I could think. What Muds says is a lie, I'm not even _half_ as scatter brained as he says.

Muds ain't always right.

I just don't like to think. I like to be at peace with myself. Besides, Muds never liked what I said anyways. So, that's what I'd do; play 'Poor, Scared Tusspot, the Man With Half-A-Brain'.

Not anymore.

I want to know, Inc. Why? Why do you laugh? Do you laugh at me? Am I somehow funny? Or are you amused by our helpless situation–yes, _ours_. I mean all of us, here at Feel Good, Inc. We're all trapped. We're prisoners, slaves being bent to your will.

And what will you do, Inc, I wish to ask. What will you do when the atmosphere here begins to suffocate what's left of us? Will you laugh then? When your slaves die off, one by one, and you are empty inside—Will you laugh then?

Will you laugh, Inc, when I die? Or do you not know, that once I am gone, no one will listen to you? No one will come to you. They want to hear me, Inc. That's right. Me.

Tell me, will you laugh when there is no one left to help you? To keep _you_ alive? _We _keep you alive, Inc. We work hard to give you our sweat, blood, the pleasure we create between ourselves, and that's what fuels you.

So, tell me now, Inc.

Will you continue to laugh when there's no one to laugh at?

_Ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-a . . ._

_"Feel Good . . ."_


End file.
